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I find Charlie in the back corner, where I’m supposed to be, her paintings already arranged, a beer in her hand. My stomach twists and I feel bile rising again, but I quickly swallow it down, keeping my smile in place while she rushes toward me.
“Am I late?” I ask while looking around at the other vendors. Most are already up while others are still positioning scarves over hooks and jewelry within cases.
Charlie shrugs. “Not quite.”
I groan. With me being sick and now not having my stall set up, I feel like this day will be a complete disaster.
“Hey, don’t worry.” Charlie rests her hand on my shoulder. “It’s your first time, you didn’t know. And I’m done, so I can help.” She nods behind me with a mischievous smile on her face. “And, not all of us have four sexy guys to help set up their stall.”
I giggle and follow her to where I will be selling my wares, finding a small stall next to hers. There’s a chair already positioned behind a short, wooden table and I stare at it longingly, ready to be off my feet even though I’ve done hardly anything. The bros and Charlie work efficiently—setting up my photographs on the table while grabbing hooks and nailing them into the wooden slats resting right outside the stall. I set the portraits on the hooks, covering as much space as possible. I think I made too much, but I suppose that’s not a bad thing. I position the rest of the pieces around the base, careful not to get any dirt or grass on the bottom. With the bros and Charlie helping me, it only takes about thirty minutes to finish setting up.
“There, see,” Charlie cheerfully, “you’re not late at all.”
I plop my body into the chair, leaning back and allowing the shade to cool my head. I’m not throwing up, but my body still feels weak. Charlie frowns down at me, her arms crossing and I await the inevitable.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“She’s not feeling well,” Seth says, returning from exploring the market and handing me an ice-cold water bottle. I groan at the mere touch and rip it open, guzzling down the water in seconds. “She was throwing up this morning.”
Charlie’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“I’m fine,” I say while waving a hand at her. “It’s just nerves.”
“Sure, it is,” Seth says with a shake of his head.
“Are you running a fever?” Charlie asks, her hands already on my forehead before I can answer. Her frown deepens as she pulls away. “You don’t feel hot.”
“I’m fine,” I say, angry this time. “I feel much better than I did an hour ago. I’m sure I will be completely fine once you all stop fretting over me.”
Everyone shares a look, but no one dares say another word about my health again. The market begins and people start weaving through the stalls, looking at pieces and their prices. The moment people begin coming up to my stall, I stop sitting in my chair, trying my best to converse about my work and what inspires me, which is difficult. I create art because I’m inspired by everything. Each piece has a different story, a different muse behind them.
As the market goes on, my strange illness disappears, leaving more energized than I felt this morning. The bros stop pestering me and I’m happy to see them adventure into the market, grabbing food and a beer while the explore. However, I’m never left alone. It’s as if they have silently decided who will watch me while the others are looking around. Now, it’s Seth’s turn, his hand circling around my waist while we watch customers looking through my work.
That lurching feeling returns to my belly when I see what appears to be my mother heading towards me, followed by…
“Dad?” My eyes widen when I see it is in fact my parents, together, not fighting. “What are you doing here?” I ask when the both of them stop before my stall.
Mom smiles at me, yet it looks forced and doesn’t meet her dark eyes. “One of your boyfriends called me. Told me you had this gig going on.”
“It was me,” Seth whispers in my ear.
I narrow my eyes at him. Why would he invite them? Especially when he knows my family is a mess right now? Honestly, I don’t know how my parents are doing it. They are unusually quiet for them. Maybe they are playing the silent game in order to keep the peace.
“Where’s Bryan?” I ask, trying very hard to keep the bitterness from my tone, yet the moment Bryan’s name leaves my lips, I realize I have failed miserably.
Mom’s smile tightens and she says, “In New York. Sadly, he’s busy with work, but he told me to give you his best.”
Whatever that means.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, reaching over the table and giving him a hug.
He holds me tight in his arms. “Hey, sweetie, good to see you. How’s it been going?”
I shrug when he releases me. “It’s been busy.”
Dad nods while he looks around at my pieces. I’ve already sold five of my portraits and one of my photographs. I haven’t earned the five hundred dollars back, but I’m doing better than I thought, especially given it’s only the beginning.
“Your work looks really good,” Dad says while looking over my portraits. “Are you selling a lot?”
